“All about Eve.” Jaime gave me a devilish grin.
“What?” I asked. “You don’t mean Dara Mills? She’s here?”
“You, the convenient understudy, while she’s off being questioned for the mysterious disappearance of Harrison Mann.”
“Please, Gavin. I hardly think she holds a grudge. Besides, she’s just busy memorizing her lines. All that TV work, she’s out of practice.” Ginny turned to me. “You remember Dara, of course.”
How could I forget? I’d shadowed her at countless rehearsals for two weeks straight.
Bristol set down his soda and spoke up. “Please, Ginny dearest. Fill me in. You forget, I wasn’t here that summer.”
As Ginny drew in a deep breath, Jaime lunged in. “Dara was our Ophelia that summer. But when Harrison disappeared, she practically had a breakdown. It was common knowledge that the two were screwing around.” She glanced over at me. I didn’t blink. “And then, of course, the police inquiry. The accusations. She never performed. Lucky for you, I guess?” Jaime winked at me. “The only understudy to perform in practically forty years.”
“I always thought it was Harrison’s wife who did it,” said Bristol. “I mean, I wasn’t here that summer — but every other summer — he did like the ladies. How did she put up with it? And why wasn’t she ever suspected?”
“Airtight alibi,” informed Gavin. “Besides, I’d prefer to think that Harrison is still alive. South of the border, living the kind of life we can only imagine. As for Dara, I never thought she’d step foot in Vermont again after that summer.”
“Jaime insisted that I cast her as Gertrude.” Ginny poured herself another glass of wine.
“I caught her in an episode of Law and Order. She just seemed so right. And from what I hear, her career seems to be taking flight.”
“Jaime wanted to get her up here again before she became too famous, isn’t that right,” Gavin chuckled.
A waiter approached us. We placed our orders. The conversation drifted from the personal to the utterly inane. Who was doing what regionally and in New York. Whose success was completely undeserved. Which artistic endeavors were so full of genius or so bizarre. I’d been out of the loop for so long that I simply smiled, nodded, slurped up my French onion soup. Another bottle of wine arrived. Bristol had his ginger ale refilled and Gavin made a toast. “To old friends and great success,” he said. We clinked our glasses.
“You know, Jaime had forgotten that I’d gone home sick that summer,” Ginny squeaked. “I remember at the time thinking I was burning a bridge — would never work in the theater again.”
“And what’s next for you?” Jaime stroked Ginny’s hair as if she were her own daughter. “Broadway, maybe?”
“Not yet.” Ginny peered bashfully down at her plate. “I’ll be directing another show in New York in the fall.”
“I hope you won’t forget about us up here?”
“Of course not.”
“Why did you leave us so suddenly that summer?” Gavin was beginning to slur his words. “Was it really mono, or something else?”
Ginny’s face turned blood red. Had she been one of Harrison’s amusements too?
Before she could answer, we were interrupted. “Friends, Romans, countrymen.” It was Jed. The dust on his overalls flickered in the candlelight. “I’m here to escort Miss Brighton to the theater.”
“Is it time already?” I asked, reaching for my wallet. “How much do I owe?”
“Dinner is on me tonight, Sheila.” Jaime smiled. “Go, go, you don’t want to be late.”
I said my goodbyes while they were contemplating dessert. It turned out that Jed hadn’t seen the show yet either — too busy building the props for Hamlet. “And these Agatha Christie plays, not my favorite,” he confessed. “The murders always seem so contrived.” He winked at me conspiratorially.
After the show, I retired to the blue room. Of course, I couldn’t sleep. I stared at the ceiling, eyes wide open. Vermont could be dark in a way that New York City never could. What had I been thinking, coming up here? I’d put that summer far behind me, and then Jaime had to call. All those memories came flooding back. And yet, it was a relief in some ways, being back. There we all were, sitting, enjoying dinner. And none of them knew — they didn’t even suspect that Harrison had another lover that summer.
I thought about reading, or writing. But I was too tired for that kind of focus. Although it was just past midnight, I knew there would be people awake. The Mousetrap had just closed, which meant that strike was in full swing.
I tossed on the clothing I’d left lying on the floor and crept out of the room. It was one of those gigantic old houses in which you could feel solitude surrounded by people. At this point in the summer, I was quite sure that there was someone staying in every room. Gavin lived in town, but Ginny and Bristol were surely residing in the Cottage, along with the casts of The Mousetrap and Hamlet. Any overflow would have been lodged at the Inn. I didn’t want to wake any of them with my midnight prowling.
I strolled briskly over to the theater, which was lit up like a torch. The big barn doors were flung open, and apprentices scurried about like cockroaches, heaving slabs of wood into a large dumpster. The buzzing of drills and a power saw seeped from somewhere inside. We never played music. We’d been told it could be a safety hazard. We needed our eyes and our ears in case a wrench went tumbling from up above, or a set piece lost its balance.
I hovered like a ghost outside the barn doors. “You here to help?” asked Jed. He heaved a large board into the dumpster and jumped in after it, cracking down a pile of plywood. “Or are you here to catch a glimpse of our resident ghost?”
I blinked twice. “Ghost?”
“Comes out during strike. Starts moving drills to odd locations. Wasn’t Ole Spooky around in your day?”
“Sure.”
“Last year, he locked one of the apprentices in the prop closet. No one found her until the next morning. Seriously, if you want to help, for old time’s sake...”
“Just watching. Swore I’d never do another strike after that summer.”
“Why?” He looked up. Those eyes were too familiar to me.
I shrugged, nonresponsive, and watched him. He caught my stare. “What?”
“You just look a lot like your dad, that’s all.”
“That’s what they all tell me.”
A chubby girl with oily black hair and broomstick eyelashes poked her head out of the barn doors. She was clutching a revolver.
“Hey, Jed, where does this live?”
“Be careful with that, Stacey.” He tossed her his key ring. “Lock it in the prop closet.”
“Do me a favor and grab that axe.” I realized that he was talking to me. He pointed to a bench where one was resting. “Careful, it’s heavier than it looks.” I knew that. I remembered. I handed it to him, and he began to swing away inside the dumpster. It was too much for me. I turned and went back.
I tried to sleep in the next morning, but was woken up by stairs creaking, doors slamming, voices raised, and finally a knock at the door. It was Ginny. She eyed my pajamas and the sleep in my eyes with apprehension.
“I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“What time is it?” There was no clock in the room.
“It’s just past ten. We’re trying to do a run on the outdoor stage before the final coat of paint goes on, and we can’t find Dara anywhere.”
“I haven’t seen Dara in fifteen years.”
“She’s always at rehearsal early, ready to go. Thought she might’ve gotten confused. Last few days it rained, and we rehearsed in the church basement over on Main Street. But I just checked over there and...”